Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

"When do we get it? I don't understand why this is taking so long. Are you sure we shouldn't just—"

Will sighed, his scant patience already exhausted by Jim's misgivings. "She said three—there's only been two—the third would've been Saturday, but I canceled, you know, after what happened—"

Nodding, Jim added his own sigh. He remembered what forced the cancellation.

Mac. Hospital. The sum of which had stopped everything, forced them to second guess the strategy.

Jim resumed. "What I'm saying is that I didn't think she would find out—this was all about preventing that, if you'll remember—because you know I'd never buy into anything that would hurt—"

Will's eyes flicked up and Jim turned around to see Sloan framed in the doorway.

"She," Sloan echoed, thoughtfully, before a pregnant pause. "Well, guys—she's here. If you're referring to me, that is." She let it register, before adding, "Of course, perhaps you had another she in mind?"

Moving quickly toward the door, Jim looked back to Will. "I'd better go—someone's probably looking for me—and there's probably a pitch meeting somewhere that I should—" He de-materialized.

Will laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Sloan," he appraised, with a slow blink and no follow-on words.

Determined to stare him down, she moved closer. "Will." But she lacked the moxie to pull it off, so after only five seconds, she yielded. "I know there's something going on here."

"Jim's having, um, some relationship problems. Lisa—or Liesel—whatever—"

"You don't strike me as the type to offer advice to lonely hearts, 'bro."

He shrugged.

"I think this has something to do with Mac—"

He lifted an eyebrow.

"—But I don't know what." She stopped for a moment, then brightened, as if possessed by a sudden epiphany. "You could tell me. After all, you and I have known each other longer than you've known Jim."

Long pause. "Nope."

Sloan took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes, undecided whether she should proceed. Finally, she couldn't resist poking at what she intuited might be a sore spot.

"By the way, Mac's back at work today. I assumed that was what you and Jim—"

He broke his gaze and reached to move some papers around on his desk, feigning disinterest. "Is she all better now?"

In his studied indifference, however, Sloan read confirmation of her suspicions, so she probed a bit more.

"She?"

Impatiently. "You know. Mac."

"Oh. Mac." Confident she was on the right trail now, Sloan shifted her weight. "Mac's okay. It would take more than that to keep her down."

"So she's well and back to normal?"

Sloan shook her head theatrically and understated, "Not necessarily—"

He looked up.

"I think Mac's telling Charlie she's leaving."

"Leaving?"

"ACN."

"Sloan, could you possibly answer the questions as I ask them and stop screwing with me?"

"Not screwing, 'bro. I'll leave that to others." She let that phrase hang, surveying the damage in his expression. He didn't look angry; he looked guilty.

"Why would she want to—" He stopped and abruptly changed tack. "Jim was just here and he didn't seem to know anything about her leaving—"

"I'm guessing she hasn't figured out exactly how to tell him yet."

"I'm the first one she needs to tell. She works for me."

"And you've made it pretty clear how one-sided that relationship is, too," Sloan sniffed. "Anyway, for a moment the other morning at the hospital— for just a fraction of a moment—you sounded almost, I don't know—as if you might be owning up to what you—that is, I thought I saw something in you that reacted to Mac and that maybe—"

"Maybe what?"

"—That maybe after the way you've tormented her—"

"Me?" His shields went up. "Perhaps you haven't heard this story, Sloan, but—"

"But—" she latched onto the end of his sentence. "But then there was the most humiliating contract since—how was it you put it?—Antonio took a loan from Shylock. Bringing in Brenner to write that article. Parading all the comely lasses every night." She bent across the desk, into his space. "Rolling around in the hay with that—that—"

"Nina Howard?"

"Wasn't exactly the phrase I had in mind. I was going to be a bit more descriptive."

"So, you're here to bust my balls about a couple of dates with Nina Howard?"

"No, I'm here to bust your balls about the way you treat Mac. Sleeping with the enemy is just a part of it."

He dropped his eyes. "We're not—it isn't that way—it's just a couple of evenings out. Not everything is what it appears."

"Well then, why don't you work toward making it not appear at all? The tabloids had a field day last week with all the column inches about you and that gossip queen—I mean, I hope you've gotten a royalty on the word count." She waited until he looked up again. "It's been brutally effective, Will, and you know it."

oooo

The tiny bit of real information Sloan provided had provoked Will even more than her insinuations. Those simply annoyed him.

Anyway—the ends would justify the means, right?

But the news that Mac was contemplating leaving the show—ACN—him—that stung. Moreover, it was a complication neither he nor Jim had foreseen, even with the near-tragic events of the previous weekend.

Sloan had probably gotten it all wrong. Mac was probably just going to take some time off. That was probably a good thing, in light of everything, and she doubtless had accrued vast quantities of paid time-off.

Will was also skeptical because Jim hadn't known anything about Mac potentially leaving. In fact, that was the clincher. No way she'd make a big move without Jim knowing.

Anyway, like the good journalist he was supposed to be, Will sought verification. A top-notch source.

He barreled past Millie's desk and into Charlie's office, where the older man squinted at the computer screen.

Charlie threw up a cautionary hand. "Be with you in a minute," he said, then mouthed theatrically, "Straight flush."

Will dropped into a chair, resigned to waiting while the aged virtual adolescent and an unseen actual adolescent bluffed each other through on-line poker. To pass the time, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through messages.

Missed calls.

Nina Howard.

Shit.

Charlie made a victorious whoop, then pushed back in his chair.

"High stakes?"

"It isn't the money—it's the total validation of my poker prowess—the victory of cool deliberation over hot-headed youth," Charlie grinned. "And also—twenty-five bucks."

Will tried to return the conversation to something worthy of the president's office.

"Sloan was just in my office, and she hinted that Mac might be thinking of—"

"Leaving. Yeah." Charlie's face lost its ebullience. "She was just here. Mac, I mean. I gave her a fatherly talking-to—buck up, take care of yourself, things will get better, you'll get back in Control and the red light will go on—"

"Damn straight. She's coming back even if we have to chop her up, put her in a duffle bag, and reassemble her behind the T-bar of the video switcher."

"I don't think it worked, Will."

"You couldn't talk her out of it?"

Charlie shrugged. "Tried my damnedest. But—she seemed pretty certain what she wanted. Gave me a formal resignation letter and everything." His eyes bounced from Will's to the sole folded sheet in his IN basket. "I asked her to think about it some more, and she—"

"She agreed, right?" Will finished, with some relief, believing he knew how this would end up. Charlie-the-patriarch returning the willful prodigal back to the fold.

"She said she didn't need to think about it—that she'd thought about it all weekend, and yesterday. She thanked me and told me she wasn't going to change her mind."

"You're letting her leave?" Will was near apoplectic with disbelief. He had never imagined this turn of events.

Things were supposed to get better, not worse.

"It's her call, Will."

"Remind her that she has a contract that runs for another year and a half. Tell her we'll hold her in breach of that contract if she—"

The corner of Charlie's mouth quirked up into a grim smile. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the irony of that threat, coming as it does from the prima donna who gave back one million cool ones every year just to be able to—"

"—To have some say over my EP, as I always should have had," Will countered. "Someone in my position has to be able to rely implicitly on the EP."

"As I recall, you were initially somewhat resistant to the idea of Mac as your EP."

"I've—uh, I've gotten used to her. Again." A new possibility burrowed up from Will's subconscious. "Wait, is there some reason—I mean, medically, could there be something that she isn't telling us?"

"Well, she said she had a doctor's appointment this afternoon, but I assumed it was simply routine follow up. I told her to take all the time she needed. But I don't think there's anything more to this episode than the tragic interaction of a whole bunch of meds with a distressing number of syllables." Pause. "Why don't you talk to her?"

"What?"

"Talk. To. Her. Communicate. If you want her to stay on as your EP, tell her. Did you talk to her at the hospital?"

"I—I, uh, never got to actually talk—"

Charlie shook his head. "I really thought you'd come around eventually, Will. It was the only reason I dragged you to the hospital the other night, the thought that you might show a little decency to a colleague, a teammate, someone responsible in large part for the success of your show."

Long seconds of silence hung between them.

"Well. I'd better go work on tonight's script."

"You do that. Oh—and do the show a favor. Tone down this stuff with your TMI lady-friend. I don't know what your intentions are, or even if you have any, but it's hurting people."

oooo

Smarting from the reprimand, Will left Charlie's office and detoured to Mac's. He wasn't entirely sure what he would say to her, but he thought he should take the temperature, gauge her state of mind. But Mac's office was dark and empty—probably the doctor's appointment Charlie had mentioned. He retreated to his own office, intending to think a bit before the final rundown.

Jim was waiting for him.

"You need to turn this off. We're doing more harm than good. When you told me you were going to stop Nina Howard from publishing whatever it was she threatened, I was cool with that. It was a good deed, and particularly a good deed for Mac. We agreed it was the lesser of two evils. But I didn't realize the repercussions—"

Will opened a drawer for cigarettes. Zilch. He tried another. "Repercussions," he echoed, while searching. "What kind of repercussions?"

"This," Jim bleated in exasperation. "Mac taking the wrong drugs together the other night. And now she's talking about leaving."

"More than talking. I just saw Charlie and he's got a letter of resignation on his desk." Will slammed the third drawer, realizing now that there were no cigarettes to be found.

"You see? You've got to stop this. Just give Nina money to kill the story."

"She doesn't want money."

"No, but she'd probably take it in a pinch. Those photos of you and blondie are taking a bigger toll on Mac than I ever thought possible—"

Will was uncomfortable with this tangent. "So, we should let Nina just publish whatever trashy innuendo she's picked up—or made up?"

There was a pause, then Jim said, quietly, "It isn't innuendo." His mouth twisted and he made anxious motions with his hands. "I mean, I wasn't there. I heard some things later and I asked Mac to tell me what happened that day—I figure she downplayed it for my benefit, but if even part of it gets in the wrong hands…" He swallowed and wet his lips. "Will, this would really rip the bandage off a lot of old wounds."

"Sounds like we're back to the old dilemma, then. Stay the course and hurt Mac's feelings—"

"—while you're pretending to romance the tabloid tart. That is, if you're pretending," Jim interjected with some heat, unhappy at how Will always managed to trivialize the emotions of others.

"Or," Will continued pointedly, "surrender now and risk Nina Howard going to press with a story that will hurt Mac professionally and re-open what you say are bad memories."

The younger man exhaled loudly and rubbed at the back of his neck. "This was a bad idea. I should have known better than to—" his voice trailed off.

"I'll talk to her. Convince her to stay."

Jim eyed him coldly. "I'm not sure that you talking to Mac right now is a good idea. You might say too much, or the wrong thing. It might catapult her into a decision, a really bad decision."

"She'll stay if I ask her." Charlie had said as much, hadn't he? It had to be true. Mac always put Will's needs above her own. If he told her he needed her—for the show—she'd stay. He was sure of it.

Jim looked unconvinced.

"Rundown." Will inclined his head at the clock.

"Yeah. You coming?"

"Will Mac be there?"

"She should be back by now."

"I'm coming—unless you object to my sharing oxygen with her."

oooo

Perhaps Jim had a point. Perhaps this had gotten out of hand.

It had started simply enough two weeks earlier, when, during a commercial break in the show, Gary Cooper had sidled up to the anchor desk where Jim was passing notes to Will. Gary relayed Maria-of-Morningside's apology, but then off-handedly asked, "Did Mac almost get her crew killed during an incident in Pakistan?" The chaser was that Nina Howard was preparing a take-down piece on News Night by way of derogatory information about Mac.

That, of course, had led to that three-way secret meeting in the backroom at Hang Chew's, between Will and his checkbook and the TMI gossip columnist.

"All right, the ethics of Wade Campbell coming on the show, that was fair game. You had every right to run that."

His largesse made her smirk.

"But to say that Mac almost got someone killed—" Pulling out his checkbook, he hoped he looked as repulsed as he felt. He just wanted to get this over with and all there was to negotiate was the number of zeroes on the check.

Nina made a short derisive bark. "I'm running a piece saying you hired an incompetent EP because she was your girlfriend and she dumped you."

"I hired the best EP in broadcasting in spite of her being my ex-girlfriend who dumped me."

"You know, you guys up there are millionaires—"

"—I'm the only millionaire up there—"

"—And celebrities—"

"—I'm the only celebrity up there."

"Not anymore." Her smile was malignant. "That ex-girlfriend of yours will be a minor celebrity in her own right in just a few days."

"How does this work, Nina?" He torqued his jaw and let his pen hover over the check, waiting for her to disclose the amount she wanted.

"I had in mind something—well, something more bankable than money. Something with a longer shelf life."

He was puzzled. This had seemed like such a straightforward encounter. A simple negotiation. Extortion 101.

"Will, I'm a career girl. Gotta protect and further my professional prospects."

"You want me to—hire you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't aspire to do what you high-minded folk do up there in the clouds. All I want is a little name recognition for future viability."

"Name recognition," he repeated dully, still not grasping her meaning.

"Contact with a little celebrity—just enough to let some of the stardust fall over me." She saw that he still wasn't getting it, so she dropped the euphemisms. "Ask me out, Will."

His hand slammed to the tabletop, upsetting the still-untouched drinks he'd ordered. "I want this to stop. I was rude to you at a party and I apologize. But it—"

"Be a bigger narcissist, Will. You think this is happening because you didn't take me home on New Year's Eve? I have something you want and you have something I need." She paused importantly to put out her proposal. "We go out two—no, make it three times, to places where we can be seen together in the right circles."

"I'm supposed to take you on a date?"

"You're not listening. Three—dates, if you want to call them that. Public events, because I'm not that kind of girl." She managed an arch smile. "I ensure there's a little press, for which I reap the benefit, and you—well, you're already a celebrity and you've already been dumped, so there's really no downside, is there? Let's start with the Young Lions Fiction Award Dinner Tuesday night, shall we? After all, we both work in letters, you might say."

He ignored the jibe. "What do I get? I mean, aside from the dubious honor of being your arm-candy?"

She slid a flashdrive across the table, never releasing it from under her finger.

"You get what MacKenzie would prefer didn't become common knowledge." She took a sip of the Cosmo he'd thoughtfully provided, then retracted the hand with the flashdrive.

"How do I know there aren't other copies?"

"Scout's honor."

Nina didn't look like she had ever been a scout.

Will persisted. "Is this the final price? I mean—once and forever – no continuing extortion—"

"That's all. Just you as my escort to three social events that I select."

It seemed too easy.

And it was.

oooo

Mac wasn't at the final rundown meeting.

As Will entered the conference room, Jim stood at the dry erase board, ticking off the stories for the evening's broadcast.

"Okay. At the top, President Obama, House Republicans, and Senate Democrats agree on a week-long stopgap spending bill preventing a government shutdown. Next, there's Greece's refusal to implement IMF austerity measures and the implications for Ireland and Portugal."

"Is Sloan—?"

"She'll carry the piece, you just bookend and ask a question or two."

Will looked around. "If she's carrying the piece, why isn't she here now?"

Jim ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Good question, and I'll chase her down before air time, confirm that she has this." He turned back to the board. "In B block, continuing U.S. troop withdrawal from Iraq, on schedule to meet the December deadline. Over 4,000 defense contractors are expected to remain, as well as State Department staffs at the embassy in Bagdad and the consulates in Basra, Mosul, and Kirkuk. Mike Tapley will have the projected numbers and the milestones for departures."

"Good," Will made a note to his yellow legal tablet.

"Okay, here's where Will can make a choice. We have a story about an Air France Airbus colliding with a Delta/Comair regional jet on a taxiway at JFK. No injuries, but this is the third incident this year and it brings into question the spatial taxiway requirements for—" He looked up. "Yes?"

Jenna hung in the door. "Phone message," nodding at Will sitting at the end of the table.

At Jim's nod, she hurried to pass the note to Will, who looked at it and crumpled it.

"Now, where was I? Right—NTSB requirements for wingspans on existing airport taxiways. We've got a spokesman from the Office of Aviation Safety—"

"Sounds pretty, um, dry," Will noted. "You said a choice—what's the other?"

"Rupert Murdoch's News of the World will put out its final issue on July 10th, closing a storied Fleet Street outlet. It's being shuttered for involvement in recent phone hacking scandals, and—yes?" Jim looked a little testy at this new interruption.

Sloan was at the door.

He gestured to the producers around the table. "Meeting. You should join us."

"Jim, I need to speak with you. It's important," she insisted.

He hesitated, then tossed his dry erase marker to Kendra. "Cover for me while I find out what this is about."

Kendra looked to Will. "Like the man said, it's your choice."

"Airbus story. But I want to know who from Aviation Safety is coming." Then, in an aside, "Fleet Street phone hacks don't mean anything here."

Kendra crossed through one of the items on the board and offhandedly tasked Tess with following up with a booker. "All right. Everything else is just technical, so if you need to go, Will—"

He departed, his pad in one hand and the crumpled phone message in the other.

Nina. Again.

He couldn't put this off much longer.

oooo

During the first break in the show, Will spoke into his mic with a voice intended for Control. "Mac, I need to talk to you."

Kendra's voice came back. "What can we get for you, Will?"

"Put Mac on, will you?"

"Um, Mac's not here. Don stepped out, but I can get him if you—"

This was live air and Mac wasn't there? Why the hell hadn't he been notified?

"I'll get Don."

"I don't want Don. Get Jim."

"He's not here, either. It's just Don and me tonight, so if we can—"

Herb interrupted with the count-in. "Back in five—four—three—two—"

A/N: This is an AU based on a couple of prompts by Lilacmermaid. As a consequence, I've changed the chronology of first season events, mainly relating to Nina's mischief.